Katdish.net

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There are two types of commonly known elephants: the African and Asian elephant.  They both used to exist in great numbers across Africa and parts of Asia. Today, both of these gentle giants are endangered. Twenty-five years ago, there were approximately 1.3 million elephants in Africa, but now it is estimated that there are about 500,000. In Asia, the numbers are even less. Loss of habitat and illegal poaching are the reasons sited for their dwindling numbers. (Source:Utah Education Network.)

There is, however, one species of elephant that continues to thrive and multiply:

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These invisible giants have most likely been around since Eve tempted Adam with the forbidden fruit. And while I have no biblical proof of such, I’m guessing there was at least one pair on Noah’s Ark.

Over the next few months, I plan to present a few examples of these fabled beasts and show how to ensure your elephants continue to thrive and live indefinitely. While there are a myriad of conditions which result in the creation of an elephant in the room, there is typically commonality to the environments in which they thrive.

• The owner of the elephant is rarely its master.
• The elephant cannot survive in an environment of open, honest communication where there are no secrets.
• “Shoulds” and “ought to haves” are an elephant’s favorite treats.
• These beasts feed and thrive on guilt, fear, pride and shame.
• Ancient elephants still exist today; many producing offspring through several generations.
• The ideal environment for a large, virile elephant is one where secrets are never openly confessed but are known by both the elephant’s owner and its master.
• Several elephants can co-exist under one roof. The come in many shapes and sizes, as do their masters.

As previously mentioned, over the next few months I will provide examples of healthy and thriving elephants. For now, I wanted to share an example of how to kill one. I could not find a video of this song, but the lyrics provide proof that these beasts can be eliminated. Sadly, in this particular example, it also meant the death of a relationship. But that’s not always the case.

What you didn’t say (Mary Chapin Carpenter)

I can read your eyes just like a book
You tell me different, but I know that look
And I don’t have to guess what’s between the lines

So what in the world am I still doing here
You push me away when I get too near
Saying love’s too simple to analyze

So why do I feel confused
Why do I feel so used
Like a worn-out thought you threw away
It wasn’t what you said, it’s what you didn’t say

Where are the windows, where are the doors?
I haven’t the key to your heart anymore
I haven’t a clue to what’s gone wrong

‘Cause you look at me sometimes as if I weren’t there
You say you’re listening, but you never hear
The strains of silence have grown so strong

I never wanted to doubt you
But I’d be better off without you
I’m no good at looking the other way
It wasn’t what you said, it’s what you didn’t say

So look at me one last time
With eyes that still know how to shine
Hold me like you won’t let go
But you let go anyway

No one belongs where they’re not wanted
You’re just a ghost, and my heart is haunted
When I said goodbye, you didn’t even beg me to stay
It wasn’t what you said, it’s what you didn’t say
No baby, it wasn’t what you said, it’s what you didn’t say

So how about you? How well are your elephants thriving?

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Do not let your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me.

“In My Father’s house are many dwelling places; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you.

“If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also.

“And you know the way where I am going.”

Thomas said to Him, “Lord, we do not know where You are going, how do we know the way?”

Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me.

John 14:1-6 (NASB)

Way Over Yonder

Way over yonder is a place that I know
Where I can find shelter from the hunger and cold
And the sweet tasting good life is easily found
Way over yonder, that’s where I’m bound

I know when I get there, the first thing I’ll see
Is the sun shinin’ golden, shinin’ right down on me
Then trouble’s gonna lose me, worry, leave me behind
And I’ll stand up proudly in true peace of mind

Talkin’ about, talkin’ about
Way over yonder is the place I have seen
In the garden of wisdom from some long ago dream

And maybe tomorrow, I’ll find my way
To the land where the honey runs in rivers each day
And the sweet tasting good life is so easily found

Way over yonder, that’s where I’m bound
That’s where I’m bound, talkin’ about, talkin’ about
Way over yonder, that’s where I’m bound

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. ~ John 14:27 (KJV)

I’ve never been a big fan of Peeps candy, but last year I found a fun and calorie-free way of enjoying the sugary marshmallow treats. Enjoy:

What can we learn?

• That we can enjoy Easter candy without having to eat it.
• That I am easily amused.
• That maturity is mostly overrated.
• That Cadbury Creme Eggs are vile and disgusting. (Okay, we didn’t really learn that, but they are…)

(And yeah, that’s me giggling in the background. Sorry/you’re welcome.)

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I live a very comfortable life. Truth be told, many people live in want of things that I take for granted. I think most of us take things for granted until we lose them or there is a threat of losing them. I don’t pretend to understand why I have so much when others have so little. But the verse “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.” (Luke 12:48b) doesn’t escape my attention, either. I know I have a responsibility to help others.

I suppose I should be content to live a life many people would envy, and for the most part, I am content. But there a certain restlessness in me that has always been there. Probably always will. I think a big part of this restlessness is an adventurous spirit. No, I don’t want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane or bungie jump off the side of a bridge. I’m not that kind of adventurer. What I desire is to do something in a way not done before. Whether that be writing, or painting or heeding God’s call. I want to be different. I want to ask Why not? where others ask Why? Even if it is from the confines of suburbia. Erwin McManus summed up this desire in the following passage:

For years, I have made it my mission to destroy the influence of the Christian cliche “The safest place to be is in the center of the will of God,” but just this week my wife Kim introduced me to one of the earlier uses of this adage. It’s found in the diary of Corrie tn Boom (concentration camp prisoner)…And although Corrie lived to tell the story, (her sister, who quoted the adage) Betsy died in the midst of it…Actually, God’s will for us is less about our comfort than it is our contribution. God would never choose for us safety at the cost of significance. God created you so your life would count, not so that you could count the days of your life..

The Church Communication Network sent me an invitation to do a session on leadership at one of their national conferences..I would follow one of the most credible experts…I was honored..both excited and nervous as I prepared to follow the main speaker . Somewhere in his lecture he started to say something that totally threw me.. Point blank, he instructed, “Don’t be an innovator, be an early adopter.”

Hearing that created a crisis for me since I place an extremely high value on innovation. At Mosaic, the community where I serve as lead pastor in Los Angeles, we don’t describe ourselves as a modern church or postmodern church, a contemporary church or emerging church. The only description I use is that we are an experimental church. We volunteered to be God’s R&D Department. Anything He wants us to do that other churches do not want to do or are unwilling to do, we’d like to take on…

The speaker went on to explain that the innovator is the guy who eats the poisonous mushroom and dies. The early adopter is the guy right next to him, who doesn’t have to eat it. He can learn from the innovator’s misfortune. Made perfect sense to me. That’s why he’s the man. Curious to me was my perception that he had pretty much been an innovator, the kind of guy who had eaten some pretty bad mushrooms and just happend to live to tell about it.

Before I knew it, it was my turn. Whatever I had planned to talk about was irrelevant to what was banging around in my head: Should I stop being an innovator?….But my mind wouldn’t stop there: What happened if everyone became an early adopter…Without innovators, who could we depend on to die?

With all this running through my brain, I let my talk go where the lecture and perhaps God’s Spirit guided me. After thanking him for his amazing contribution to the Body of Christ and for mentoring me through his books and ministry, I went on to thank him for a new metaphor for my life.

I am a mushroom eater.

Erwin McManus, The Barbarian Way

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being an early adopter, but as McManus says, without innovators there would be no early adopters.

Someone has to be willing to die.

So, what about you? Are you a fan of mushrooms?

This post is part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival: Adventure, hosted by the lovely and talented Peter Pollock. For more posts about adventure, please visit him at PeterPollock.com.

Source: KatyTimes.com

Last Thursday morning at 11:52 am, I received a call from my 13 year old son. With chants of “Save our Teachers” in the background, he informed me that he was standing in front of his school protesting the firing of teachers from his school and other schools in the district. He did not ditch class, he walked out of school during his lunch hour. I told him I supported his protest as long as he did so respectfully and went back to class after his lunch break was over. He did.

Several local news stations carried this protest as well as others throughout the district. The State of Texas is facing mass budget shortfalls and education will take a heavy hit. Katy ISD announced plans to cut 550 jobs within the district. Of these jobs, 500 teachers were lost to attrition or lay-offs and 50 administrative jobs were cut. If these figures seem lopsided to you, you’re not the only one. But more about that later. The following letter was sent out to all students via email from the Superintendent of Katy ISD following Thursday’s walk-outs:

Dear Students,

Today, some of your peers decided to take a stand to have their voices heard in protest of teacher lay-offs. I understand that many of you are upset over losing great teachers, and I too feel the same frustration. This entire process has been one of the toughest challenges we’ve faced as a school district in recent years. Therefore, I want you – our students – to understand how we got here:

The State of Texas is facing an education budget shortfall of as much as $10 billion over the next two years. This means that school districts all over the state will not receive a significant amount of money. For Katy ISD, we’re estimating a loss of approximately $50 million. However, by Texas law, we cannot reduce teacher pay to save jobs. And, by Texas law, we cannot use funds for new school buildings to pay teachers. This is why we have had to face the difficult task of cutting back on programs and laying-off staff members – both teachers and administrators.

Texas law requires us to notify teachers of their job status at least 45 days before the last day of school. So, even though the state has not announced a final dollar amount that will be cut from our schools, we are forced to make difficult staffing decisions before April 19. This deadline is what drove the announcements this week. These layoffs are necessitated by the projected shortfall in state financial support-not due to job performance. My hope is that the state does not cut as much as is currently projected, allowing us to hire some of these great teachers back.

Our goal is to spread the cuts as much as possible so as to not severely impact the classroom, classroom support, student learning experiences and other services that have made Katy ISD one of the top school districts in our nation.

You are Katy ISD, and I admire you for wanting to have your voice heard – and for caring about our great teachers. We are continuing to work hard to balance this situation, and I ask that you be respectful of your teachers and your principals as this time is very difficult for all of us.

Please stay focused on your academics and finish strong in this last stretch of the 2011 school year.

Sincerely,

Alton Frailey
Superintendent of Schools

Having been in this district for several years, I was unimpressed with the letter as were many students who received it. More protests were carried out the following day, and yet another email was sent out:

Information regarding student protest:

· Students’ voices have been heard and messages have reached the state leaders
· Their point is appreciated and has been made
· Behavior observed/occurring now on behalf of students in not peaceful or focused but disruptive and not safe
· Further disruption of the school day will result in disciplinary action

I applaud the kids for standing up for their teachers. What I don’t appreciate is feeling like our kids are being used as pawns in some power play between the state legislature and the local school superintendent. Based on several news stories and interviews I read and viewed on television, it seems the teachers were approached by administration staff during the school day and told they were getting laid off. They then had the option of completing the rest of the day or going home. The district had substitute teachers on hand if the teacher chose to leave for the day. Many chose to leave, many visibly upset and in tears. I question why the district carried out these layoffs while the children were there to witness them, especially when Friday was an early dismissal day for students and they could have waited until after 12:40 when the kids had left for the day. Of course, the news media had mostly cleared out by then, too.

Katy ISD only spends  49.7% of each dollar on the classroom.  The Administration makes a lot more money than the teachers.  Add this to the fact, that over 80M is sitting in a bank account in the district, and you see just how ludicrous the actions were of this administrator.  There is zero requirement for 80M to be in the reserve funds of the ISD.  Yet, he still wanted to make political points. (Source: /Texas for 56: Katy Schools Suffer As Superintendent Wields Power

Here’s a few statistics via Texas Education Agency.

• For every public school teacher in Texas, school districts have one non-teaching staff position.
• State-wide, teachers earn an average of $9,000 a year less than “other professional staff,” $22,000 less than school administrators and $38,000 less than central administration staff.
• The turnover rate for teachers is about 15%, with almost 38% of teachers having less than 5 years teaching experience.
• Superintendents on average take home six-figure salaries, with the highest-paid superintendent, Thomas Carroll of Beaumont ISD (19,000 students), earning $346,778 per year – nearly 2 ½ times more than the Texas governor!
• Superintendents typically enjoy a number of perks, like an expense account, retirement contribution, car and housing allowances, bonuses, and more.

There’s so much more to this mess, but this post is already too long. Thanks for letting me vent.

It seems to me that if we could eliminate a few more admin jobs and stop building these Taj Mahals they call administration buildings, we could afford to put more money back into the classrooms. I understand the need for administrative and support staff, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a t-shirt that said, “If you can read this, thank an administrator”.

End of long winded rant.

rhino stencil

Some of you know I was working on a art project for my daughter’s 4th grade class last week. Each year, the school holds an auction to raise money for the PTA. In years past, the most popular items have been pieces of pottery decorated by the kids. This year, they decided to expand this concept to other mediums. Some grades still did pottery projects. There were also decorated benches, quilts, and painted canvases.

In years past, I have donated small rhino canvases (the school mascot) to be auctioned off. I’ve painted sports themed rhinos, superhero rhinos (Spiderman was my favorite), girly-girl rhinos, Sponge Bob, Harry Potter, Dr. Seuss, camouflage rhinos and many more. I even painted a rhino that looked like a Louis Vuitton purse. I don’t do that anymore, but I did offer to paint the rhino canvas for my daughter’s class.

I won’t go through a blow by blow of the process, just the basics. 1) Each child was given an outline of a rhino I created with a stencil and was instructed to personalize it any way they wanted. 2) I xeroxed the rhinos then transferred each image onto a canvas using graphite paper. 3) I completed the rhinos to look as close to their original artwork as possible.

Prepared canvas

Arranging the rhinos

Copying the rhino images onto canvas

When I sent the blank rhino sheets for the kids to decorate, I also sent pictures of some of the rhinos I have painted in previous years. I wanted to give the kids some ideas about how they might want to decorate their own. A few kids used my ideas, but most of them personalized their rhinos to reflect something about themselves. I was very impressed with what they came up with:

Of all the great rhinos the kids sent me, I did have a favorite. Mostly because while other rhinos reflected a hobby, sport or other interest, this particular rhino was a reflection of the artist, a self-portrait in rhino form. I hope this suggests that the artist is a rugged individualist and comfortable with who she is:

Or maybe I’m just a proud mama…

How would you decorate your rhino?

image from multimediaseattle.org

The above photo depicts a brutal form of execution known as necklacing, carried out by forcing a rubber tire, filled with petrol, around a victim’s chest and arms, and setting it on fire. The victim may take up to 20 minutes to die, suffering severe burns in the process. The practice became a common method of lethal lynching during disturbances in South Africa in the 1980s and 1990s.

Photojournalist Kevin Carter was the first to photograph a public execution by necklacing in South Africa in the mid-1980s. He later spoke of the images:

“I was appalled at what they were doing. I was appalled at what I was doing. But then people started talking about those pictures… then I felt that maybe my actions hadn’t been at all bad. Being a witness to something this horrible wasn’t necessarily such a bad thing to do.”

He went on to say:

“After having seen so many necklacings on the news, it occurs to me that either many others were being performed (off camera as it were) and this was just the tip of the iceberg, or that the presence of the camera completed the last requirement, and acted as a catalyst in this terrible reaction. The strong message that was being sent, was only meaningful if it were carried by the media. It was not more about the warning (others) than about causing one person pain. The question that haunts me is ‘would those people have been necklaced, if there was no media coverage?”

(Source: Wikipedia: Necklacing)

In March 1993 Carter made a trip to Sudan. The sound of soft, high-pitched whimpering near the village of Ayod attracted Carter to an emaciated Sudanese toddler. The girl had stopped to rest while struggling to a feeding center, whereupon a vulture had landed nearby. He said that he waited about 20 minutes, hoping that the vulture would spread its wings. It didn’t. Carter snapped the haunting photograph and chased the vulture away. (Source: Wikipedia: Kevin Carter)

image courtesy of photobucket.com

It is unknown what happened to this young girl after this photo was taken. What is widely known is that Kevin Carter won a Pulitzer Prize for this photograph, presented to him on May 23, 1994 at Columbia University.

On July 27, 1994 Carter drove to the Braamfontein Spruit river, near the Field and Study Centre, an area where he used to play as a child, and took his own life by taping one end of a hose to his pickup truck’s exhaust pipe and running the other end to the passenger-side window. He died of carbon monoxide poisoning at the age of 33. Portions of Carter’s suicide note read:

“I am depressed … without phone … money for rent … money for child support … money for debts … money!!! … I am haunted by the vivid memories of killings and corpses and anger and pain … of starving or wounded children, of trigger-happy madmen, often police, of killer executioners…I have gone to join Ken [recently deceased colleague Ken Oosterbroek] if I am that lucky.”

This is certainly not a new story, but it’s something that’s been on my heart lately. Photographers, journalists and writers give voice to suffering and chaos. Hopefully in an attempt to draw the world’s attention to it, thereby calling others to action. But in that moment and the moments immediately following, what are they doing about it? Would Kevin Carter be alive today if he had set down that camera and come to the aid of that little girl? Would the darkness have consumed him had he chosen to be a light instead of a neutral observer? I just don’t know.

I’ve said before that one of the occupational hazards of being a writer is that you’re always writing. Every situation becomes a potential story. But I never want to come to a place where what I put on paper becomes more important than inserting myself into the bigger story of life. Especially if by abandoning my mental pen and notebook I might have a hand in changing a tragedy into a happily ever after, or at least an after.

“Some people confuse acceptance with apathy, but there’s all the difference in the world. Apathy fails to distinguish between what can and what cannot be helped; acceptance makes that distinction. Apathy paralyzes the will-to-action; acceptance frees it by relieving it of impossible burdens.” – Arthur Gordon

“By far the most dangerous foe we have to fight is apathy – indifference from whatever cause, not from a lack of knowledge, but from carelessness, from absorption in other pursuits, from a contempt bred of self satisfaction” – William Osler

image courtesy of photobucket.com

There are women who purchase handbags as accessories to match their shoes. They change out their purses as often as they change their outfits. I am not one of those women. For me, entering into a relationship with a handbag is a long term commitment not to be taken lightly.

For years, the search for the perfect bag was akin to searching for the Holy Grail. Many came close, but always lacked a certain necessary element. Then a few years ago (I’m not sure the exact year, but I know it was during the second Bush administration), I received a Fossil Sutter Crossbody flap bag as a Christmas gift. It was perfection wrapped in brown distressed leather and love at first use. We’ve been together ever since. It’s been such an integral part of my life that I’ve written not one, but two blog posts about it.

Last week, my Fossil bag finally succumb to the ravages of time and abuse. Actually, I lost one of the clips that hold the shoulder strap onto the purse.

Otherwise, I’d just do what I did with the other clip and wire it back on.

Okay, perhaps I’m just a wee too attached to that handbag, but we’ve got a lot of history together.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to wipe away my tears and try to find one exactly like it on e-Bay. In the meantime, I invite you to read again or for the first time ever…

The ABC’s of Crap in my Purse: (Originally posted 3-12-2009)

Disclaimer: Yes, that is a pricey Fossil purse with paint on it. But in my defense, it was a gift from my sister. She feels sorry for me because I have chosen to live a life devoid of overpriced accessories, so she buys me expensive purses, Pandora bracelets with coordinating overpriced beads to go with, and other fancy stuff for Christmas and birthdays. I had no idea how much that purse costs until I went to get one without paint on it. After pricing them, I decided my purse had character. I bet no one else in town has a chocolate brown Fossil Sutter Crossbody flap bag (don’t think I didn’t have to do a Google image search to figure out what kind of purse it is) with off-white trim paint strategically dabbed on the credit card zipper pouch. Katdish: trendsetter (CHECK!)

I’m really liking Twitter. There. I said it. Now, I’ll also say this: my friend Steph at the Red Clay Diaries was right. Yeah, Steph. You guilted me into it, but I’m glad I came around. It’s really opened up a whole new world of Internet peeps for me, and as you all know, I don’t spend nearly enough time on the computer. For example, this chick named Mandy Thompson started following me. So I go check out her twitter page and her blog. Turns out, she’s just like me, except that she’s an incredibly gifted musician and is cool. She thinks I’m cool, too. But let’s not let that cat out of the bag just yet. She’ll figure out what a dork I am sooner or later.

Anyway, Mandy recently wrote a post dedicated to stuff in her purse. It looked really professional with corresponding letters to the stuff all nicely laid out. There was a purpose for everything she had in there. Contrast that to Steph’s post awhile back about stuff in her purse. Which is waaayyyy closer to what is in my purse.

I really liked the way Mandy lettered the items. So, in attempt to copy her, I attempted to do the same with the items in my purse. You would think that someone who actually paints murals and custom artwork as a trade would be able to use the paintbrush function on her computer. And you would be wrong. Painting with a mouse is nothing like painting with a paintbrush. I pretty much suck at it. But still, it took me a long time to designate letters to items from my purse in no particular order, so I’m going with it. Ladies and gentlemen, the ABC’s of crap in my purse:

A) Rudy the cat. He is not now, nor has he ever been in my purse.
B) My second Blackberry. I upgraded from my first Blackberry when my dh decided he needed an iPhone. Some people never get a brand new car. I never get a brand new PDA. (Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I dig it.)
C) My business cards, “Ragamuffin Child Interiors” I realize the “child” part is redundant, as the definition of a ragamuffin is “a shabbily dressed child”. But would you hire a painter whose company name is “A shabbily dressed child Interiors”? Me thinks not.
D) Large stack of random receipts. I think it’s important to keep receipts. Why? Because my husband says so.
E) Pens that I can never find, but have obviously always been in there.
F) Giveaway mirror from my old church.
G) Oil blotting sheets. People, I am very shiny! Those paper toilet seat liners are also great for blotting the excess oil from your face, but by using the little blue sheets you will draw way less attention to yourself in the ladies room. (You’re just gonna have to trust me on this one.)
H) Orbit gum – I tease Pete Wilson about chewing gum during interviews, but I’m a fairly prolific gum chewer myself. (Don’t tell him I said that.)
I) Eye wetting drops from when I had lasik surgery a year ago. Hey, you never know.
J) Broken pieces from a cheap tic tac toe game that my daughter asked me to hold for her last month.
K) No-slip ponytail holder. I swear by those, especially if you have thick hair.
L) Leftover nail glue and orange stick that I used to apply Lee press-on nails to my ugly man-hands whist attending Catalyst One Day in Alpharetta, GA.
M) Several tubes of lipstick that I almost never wear. Also, one of them is a highlighter.
N) A Speert purse hook. You set the square part down on the edge of a table, and then you can hook your purse on it. Another fancy gift from my sympathetic sister. I’ve used it once: the day she gave it to me at lunch.
O) Bed, Bath & Beyond and Linens n’ Things 20% coupons. You never know when you’ll need to buy someone a Snuggie. (I know LNT is out of business – I threw it away.)
P) A bulletin from a church where we guest-led worship a couple of Sundays ago. (Okay, it was mid-January. Are you beginning to see a trend here?)
Q) Business account checkbook.
R) A bag of gourmet coffee that they were giving out at Catalyst One Day.
S) A bag of airline pretzels.
T) A foil pack of Gas-X. (I know, I know — TMI.)
U) A copy of “Making your Mark: How to leave long, annoying comments on other People’s Blogs” by Wordy McTypesalot. You never know when someone’s going to ask you for your autograph. It hasn’t actually happened yet, but I’m ready!
V) Wallet by “The Sack”. I love that wallet, but I don’t keep any credit cards or ID in there. It’s basically a fancy junk drawer for my purse. I’m pretty sure Waldo’s in there.
W) Credit card zipper pouch where I actually keep my credit cards and ID. Incidentally, I almost never use credit cards. I should take most of those out of there and put them in my wallet.
X) Huh….apparently, there is no “X”. But I’m not redoing that picture! (Man, I hope Angela doesn’t read this. That will drive her nuts! I swear, Angela; I did not do that on purpose this time.)
Y) Tres muchos denaro. (Dang. I’m practically bilingual!)
Z) Correct change for nothing in particular.

I suppose my purse (and the center console in my Jeep) are very much like this:

To my guy readers. Sorry. I hope you didn’t get any girl cooties while reading this post. I’ll try to write a post with some fart humor and/or gratuitous violence to make up for this one.

Wow. That was a really long post about the contents of my purse. I’m actually kind of embarrassed. But not embarrassed enough not to publish it. (Hit “publish post”.)

image courtesy of photobucket.com

On the morning of September 11, 2001 and the hours and days immediately following the terrorist attacks, life as usual for U. S. citizens came to an abrupt and collective halt. We eventually resumed our lives, forever changed but cognizant of the fact that life does indeed continue. Such will be the case for the people of Japan and other places around the world touched and forever changed by natural and man-made disasters and acts of violence.

As difficult as large scale disasters are, there is a degree of comfort in shared tragedy, knowing you are not alone in your suffering. But what of personal tragedy? How do you deal with life around you moving forward when the life you know is suddenly ripped out from under you?

I’ve been pondering this question quite a bit this past week. So much so that a friend suggested that I would hear something at church Sunday morning that God needed me to hear. My friend was right. Jeff’s sermon, which he had planned long before personal tragedies touched the lives of so many of our church family last week was “Hope in Suffering”.

One of the songs we sang was Matt Redmond’s “You never let go”. We’ve sang this song numerous times, but the lyrics meant much more this time:

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Your perfect love is casting out fear
And even when I’m caught in the middle of the storms of this life
I won’t turn back
I know You are near

And I will fear no evil
For my God is with me
And if my God is with me
Whom then shall I fear?
Whom then shall I fear?

Chorus:
Oh no, You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go
In every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go
Lord, You never let go of me

And I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
A glorious light beyond all compare
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
We’ll live to know You here on the earth

Chorus:

Yes, I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
Still I will praise You, still I will praise You

If you are walking in the shadowlands right now, please know that God has you in his grip and he will never let go of you. He is close even when he feels a million miles away.

“He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds.” -Psalm 147:3

It’s been a very busy week in the non-virtual world for me with no time for writing. Here’s a post Billy Coffey wrote for me back in 2009. It’s a good ‘un:

image courtesy of photobucket.com

There are better things to be called than “an inbred hick,” and I had been called worse by many, but I had to admire the originality. And I wasn’t mad. The phrase was uttered with a sense of good-natured mockery common among friends in general and mine specifically. Especially the one who was not only a liberal, but also a Red Sox fan. I never said my friends were perfect.

This friend’s name? Dan. A truly brilliant man despite the fact I would never admit it to his face. Chair of the Asian Studies department at the college. Prolific author and lecturer. World traveler. Highbrow. All of which paints a pretty stark contrast to me. My only chair is the one in the living room, I am prolific only at spitting and shooting a bow, most of my travels are on dirt roads, and I am the very definition of lowbrow.

We have our differences, to be sure. And whenever we happen to bump into each other, we spend most of our time arguing over whose differences are right.

Like yesterday, for instance.

Dan brought me a souvenir from his latest trip to Japan—a fan with “Hanshin Tigers” printed on the front, along with a pretty ferocious looking cat.

“You should go with me one time,” he said after recapping his adventures. “Japanese baseball is great, and the Tigers have a good team this year. You need to see the world. You’re stuck here in this valley missing everything.”

“You’re only stuck if you can’t move,” I said, “I just don’t want to. And I’m not missing much. The world’s a crazy place. At least around here the crazy’s familiar.”

“There’s nothing here,” he said. “It’s all out there. The world’s passing you by. Your family’s been here how long?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think we came with the Valley.”

“Exactly. Generations. As long as people can remember.”

“And that’s bad how?”

“You’re the product of centuries of people who refused to better themselves. Your life is no different than your great-grandfather’s and his great-grandfather’s.”

“So?” I asked.

“So you’re just an inbred hick. You could make yourself into a lot better person.”

The thought of making myself into a better person had never really crossed my mind, mostly because I’d always been pretty content with who I was. Then again, I’d never considered myself an inbred hick.

But my family has occupied this valley and the mountains surrounding it for centuries. Staying put in one place for so long tends to give you a sense of belonging. Of home. And though I would trade my mountains for the ocean any day, this place would always be home. There are a lot of my kin buried here in the Blue Ridge. I could wander away from those bones, but not for very long and not for very far.

So the inbred thing? True.

As for the “hick” part of that little insult, I’d have to say that was something Dan and his fellow urbanites just couldn’t understand. They’d never lived in the sticks, never spent much time with country folk, and so allowed their stereotypes to rule them.

Then again, all stereotypes are grounded in some semblance of truth.

It’s true, for instance, that one of my best Christmas presents last year was a bag of deer jerky and a jar of peach moonshine. And yes, some country folk live in trailers. By and large, “dressing up” means trading our faded jeans for dark ones. We are not generally well-educated. We do hunt and fish and ride four-wheelers. We live vicariously through Ric Flair and consider “Freebird” the real national anthem.

True. All true.

But there is more beneath the surface to life in the country. A lot.

Because to us, a trailer full of love is better than a castle full of discord.

And we’re not nearly as impressed with the clothes a person wears as we are with the person wearing the clothes.

We might not be able to split the atom, but we know what means much in life and what doesn’t.

We hunt and fish and grow our own groceries because food straight out of the dirt and the woods, sweetened with sweat and labor, tastes a lot better than what you can get at the store.

Our churches aren’t big, but they’re full. Our words are few, but they’re meaningful. We don’t want more of this world. We want less.

We are plain and simple people. People who will go hungry before letting our neighbors starve, drop whatever we’re doing to help a friend, and roam among the wild places to get a better glimpse of God.

The best people. My people.

Inbred hicks? Absolutely. Who could possibly want to be more?

To read more from inbred hick and writer extraordinaire Billy Coffey, visit him at BillyCoffey.com